Angel Boy
by Miroslav
Summary: What is kindness? How can you define it? And if you've got a definition, do you truly know if you'd recognize it? ...Even if it came up and kissed you on the lips? Slash, DracoRon


**_Angel Boy _**

_My mother said there's only one way  
A sweet angel boy, narrow and straight  
Time it has past, teachings they fade  
Now their angel boy has gone astray _

_Angel Boy by Tim McGraw_

Why of all people, Draco thought with a sigh, did it have to be Weasley that he was trapped in this room with? Somehow, by the mischief of the gods, he and Weasley were stuck in detention together. Only a few minutes earlier, Professor Snape had dropped a platter of squirming eels on the table before their horrified eyes and had told them that every last one of the creatures needed to be diced and pickled before the two sixth-years could leave.

He could still see the Potions Master's malicious smirk that had lingered on the dark-haired man's lips as he had swept back into his office, leaving Draco and Weasley alone. For a second, he felt resentful. Didn't his professor realize that Draco's valuable time was being wasted here? Didn't he realize that Draco had an impossible task at hand, one that he would inevitably fail, but one that he had to work his damnedest to complete nevertheless? Didn't he realize--

"Do your bloody share of the work, Malfoy!" The harsh, slightly whining words jerked Draco from his thoughts, and his features automatically twisted into a sneer of disdain.

"Why should I, Weasley? You need the Knuts. I can always pay you to do my share," the blonde said, and put as much cruel amusement behind the barbed words as he could, knowing that Weasley would lose his temper. The redhead always did, and it was one of the few past times Draco had time for anymore.

Weasley's fists clenched, a dark flush spreading across those coltish features. Coltish features, Draco was surprised to note, that didn't look quite so awkward anymore. The redhead had filled out over the years they'd been at Hogwarts, and while he still had bony features, they made him...striking, intense, centered. Draco made a mental note to find a way to mock those striking features. After all, he couldn't let Weasley's ego remain intact.

"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy."

Ah, what a comeback! He could always expect a less-than-witty response from the redhead, and today was no exception. Draco smirked once more and said in a sweet tone, "What, and disappoint Pansy? She's all over me, you know. It's almost sickening." He paused, and added, "Though not as disgusting as you and Lavender of course. Haven't you two ever heard of common decency?"

Weasley gritted his teeth, and the flush spread to his ears. It was hilarious how all of the Weasley brood did that, how all of their ears turned rosy. This particular Weasley's ears turned the reddest of them all though. "At least _my _girlfriend doesn't look like a horse, Malfoy."

Draco blinked. Now that had actually been a semi-decent comeback, for the redhead. Had he been practicing? "Actually, she looks more like a bulldog, Weasley. But I can't say I'm surprised you can't tell the difference between animals, what with Hagrid being so pathetic--"

"Don't say a word about Hagrid!" Weasley's voice was sharp and dark, and as Draco glanced at him, he caught a flicker of...guilt?...in the other boy's eyes.

He almost laughed. A weakness to exploit! Merlin's beard, Weasley hadn't given him an opening like this in ages. Draco turned his voice silky, unconsciously mimicking Snape as he said softly, "Feeling guilty, Weasel? I noticed none of the Gryffindork Trio signed up for his class this year..."

Weasley's fists clenched, and Draco watched in almost fascination as the blush spread to his throat. "Shut up!" the redhead hissed. "I just...I didn't mean..." Letting out a sound of frustration, Weasley turned and hacked viciously at the eels.

Draco couldn't keep from smirking. "Professor Snape said dice the eels, Weasel, not hack them into horrible chunks." He frowned when the other boy ignored him, and turned to gaze distastefully at the eels. Gingerly taking up the knife, he began to work, unable to keep his upper lip from curling in disgust.

Each cut of the wiggling things caused purple fluid to spill onto the counter, and left a distinctly disgusting smell that would probably seep into his robes. Draco wrinkled his nose. He despised things that _stained_. Although blood stained even worse than this purple fluid ever would, and he was supposed to do things that involved blood, tons of blood. How many robes would he stain during his time as a Death Eater? Would he have to kill so much that the sickeningly sweet smell of blood would never leave his form?

"So how'd Snape's favorite end up with detention anyway?"

Yet again, Weasley had jolted him from his thoughts, and Draco blinked for a moment before he could gather his thoughts. He swallowed, and resisted the urge to touch his arm where the cause of his detention marred his otherwise pale skin. "We had...an argument."

Weasley snorted at that. "You and Snape? Fight? What, you two not agree on how to gang up on Harry next?"

He rolled his eyes, and didn't bother arguing. His stomach was churning and he felt almost nauseous about the idea of all that blood. The blonde looked down, and realized his hands were shaking. Damn it, he could, he _would_ get over the blood. After all, _Avada Kedavra _didn't leave a trace... Biting on his lower lip, he forced his hands to stop shaking, and then got back to work.

But it seemed Weasley wasn't content to leave him alone. "Heard from your father lately?"

"Shut up, Weasley." Draco was vaguely aware that his hands had startled to tremble once more, and tried to calm down by complimenting himself on the way his voice had remained cool and unruffled. "Why don't you just _work_ like Professor Snape said so we can get out of here? Then I won't have to look at your ugly face anymore. Just looking at how hideous you are makes my stomach turn."

There was a clatter as Weasley dropped his knife, and the redhead laughed roughly. "Lavender doesn't think I'm ugly."

The words slipped out before Draco could even consider his words. "Granger does." Even as the words echoed in the room, he knew that would tip Weasley into violence, and was already reaching for his wand when Weasley lunged at him.

Surprisingly powerful hands gripped his shoulders, and shoved him -- hard. Draco fell off his stool, his wand falling from his grasp just before he connected with the ground with a loud thud, pain lancing through his frame as he landed on his tail-bone. "Shit!" He was breathless from the pain, and turned an astonished gaze upon the furious redhead.

"Take it back," said the other teenager through gritted teeth, towering over him. "Take it _back_!"

Draco wheezed, and pressed his hands against his lower back, as though that would stop the throbbing. "Learn to take a joke, Weasel!" he finally rasped out, hating how hoarse his voice was from the pain.

Weasley's features twisted. "A joke? A _joke_? Let's see if you can appreciate a joke, Malfoy! Seeing as we're talking about bloody looks, you look like a cross between a Veela and a Harpy. Wait, my mistake, you look like your mother, only she looks more like a Harpy--"

He saw red, and kicked out, rewarded with a gasp as his boot connected with Weasley's shin, and then he threw himself at the other boy, ignoring the flare of agony in his tail bone. "Don't say anything about my mother!" Draco didn't care if his voice was a shriek that sounded enough like a Harpy's to cause further jokes. All he could see was his mother's tired, anxious face, and remember the way her eyes had brimmed with tears when he'd told her of his impossible, suicidal mission.

"Gerroff!"

Draco was vaguely aware that he had somehow pinned the redhead to the floor, and that his hands were stinging from the blows he was raining down on Weasley's face, shoulders, chest. "Don't _ever _talk about my mother!"

"Gerroff!" Wealsey said again, and then yelped as one of Draco's fists smashed into his nose.

Suddenly all of Draco's senses went into overtime. He could feel the stinging of his knuckles as though someone was stabbing a thousand little needles into them, feel the heat radiating from the other boy's frame, and most of all smell Weasley's blood, as if it was Draco himself with the bloody nose.

He scrambled away from Weasley at that, and pressed his aching hands to his mouth, fighting the nausea that welled up at the smell of blood. Shit, shit, shit. He should be _happy_ he'd made the Mudblood-lover bleed! Not...sickened. Shit!

"Ow," Weasley groaned after a moment. "I think you broke it."

"Then go see Pomfrey, Weasel." Draco didn't look at him, terse words muffled by his hands. "I'm sure Professor Snape will be more than happy to assign you another detention." By Merlin, why couldn't Weasley leave and take that horrible scent of blood with him?

But of course Weasley ignored his suggestion; the bastard _would _stay to spite him. He could hear the redhead stand and resettle himself on one of the stools. "Get up, Malfoy..." When the blonde ignored him, Weasley snorted. "What's your problem? I didn't get a punch in edgewise. Or are you crying about your mother?"

Draco looked up at that, ready to snap something cutting and brilliant (he just hadn't quite figured out exactly what yet) but instead just stared at the blood that ran down Weasley's face. He flinched at the sight and fought back the instinct to gag. "W-wipe your damn face, Weasel."

"Aww, Malfoy can't take the sight of a bit of blood?"

He wanted to spit out a few curses that would rip the very oxygen from Weasley's lungs. How had _Weasley _gained the upper hand? "Go to hell, Weasley." He couldn't tear his eyes away from that scarlet liquid that splattered the other boy's mouth and chin, and so he saw how Weasley's lips curved into a malicious smirk.

"C'mon, Malfoy, get over it. It's me that bleeding." Weasley wiped his mouth, and his smirk widened, revealing white teeth made whiter by the contrast of red around his mouth.

Draco wasn't aware he'd closed his eyes until he noticed he could no longer see that horrible mouth. "You...look like a bloody vampire, Weasley. Now wipe that damn blood off." There was a ball of agony in the pit of his stomach, doubling him over a bit where he still sat on the floor. It was just fucking blood!

It was a moment before he realized that Weasley wasn't making any more smart-ass remarks, and he gathered enough strength to look up, only to find Weasley looking at him in bewilderment, his lips still red with dried blood but the rest scrubbed off somehow.

"It was just a bit of blood, Malfoy. Honestly," said the redhead. "What _is _your problem?"

"I..." Draco swallowed. "I just don't like blood, Weasley. Now, some of us have homework left to do after this detention, so if we could just get back to dicing the eels..."

To his surprise, Weasley didn't tease him anymore about it, and just shrugged. "Fine by me." Turning back to the wiggling eels, the redhead began to quickly cut them, finally in hurry for the first time this entire night.

After a moment, Draco got to his feet, wincing at the ache that spread from his tail bone to the rest of his back. He was going to have to take a nice long shower once he got back to the dormitory. He sat back down on the stool next to Weasley, and set about slicing up the eels and ignoring the Gryffindor completely.

And it was blissfully silent for a good ten, fifteen minutes before the idiot opened his mouth again. "What were you and Snape arguing about?"

"None of your business, Weasley." He watched his blade cut one of the eels in two, and stared as the creature convulsed for a moment before going still. If he turned and slit Weasley's throat, would Weasley convulse as well? His sore knuckles tightened on the handle of the knife. There would be a lot of blood, certainly. And Draco would definitely be doused with most of it. And somehow...and somehow he didn't think he had the nerve to just turn and slash. "Go back to cutting."

"Wait, let me guess." Weasley was silent for a moment. "He caught you making out with Parkinson after curfew?"

Malfoy couldn't help but laugh at that, and mentally scowled when it came out as amused rather than scornful. "You're such an idiot, Weasley. Give up on your guessing game and get back to work."

Weasley resumed slicing again, but didn't shut up. "Hmm... Let me think. Did it have anything to do with being out after curfew?"

"Shut up."

"Anything to do with Parkinson at all?"

"Shut _up, _Weasley."

"Anything to do with--"

Draco slammed his free hand into the counter and shouted, "_Shut up_!"

There was silence for a moment, and then Weasley said almost conversationally, "We'll win this war, you know." The blonde shot him a look of scorn, but was ignored. "And then you and your father will be locked away in Azkaban forever, and You-Know-Who will be dead, and everyone will--"

His blood went cold, and the knot became the size of a Quaffle, weighing him down. For a moment, all he could see was that horrible, pale face and hear the hissing _Now, young Malfoy, you are mine, now and forever. Sssserve me well. _"You think it'll be that easy, Weasley?" he hissed. "You think the Dark Lord will die at the hands of your pathetic Boy-Who-Lived like a puppy? He should've died the _first _time, and you think he'll just say, 'Okay, Potter, I'm tired of chasing after immortality now, you can kill me, remember to point the wand directly at me so you don't miss' and that'll be it?" Weasley had gone ashen, but Draco found himself still yelling. "People are going to _die _in this war, Weasley. People you know, people you care about. And then you might not even _win _the damn thing, you might lose and then where will all the sacrifices get you? What will you do then, Weasley?"

Every one of the boy's freckles stood on out his pale, strained face, and then Weasley whispered, "I'd die."

Draco smiled mirthlessly. "Taking the coward's way out? I would've thought suicide would be too Slytherin for you, Weasley." He looked down at the eels, and impulsively impaled one of the few still writhing. He lifted the speared creature up, watching it in its final death throes, surprised that there was only a trickle of purple liquid, and then almost grinned at Weasley, although it was a dark, twisted grin. "We're all eels on the edge of a knife, Weasel. Eventually, the knife cuts, and we die. Maybe not immediately, but slowly, slowly we all die."

"Stop it." Weasley was staring at the impaled eel with a look of horror. "Just...shut up."

But now it was Draco's turn to keep talking, voice hoarse, almost desperate. "Has Potter ever told you what the Dark Lord looks like? How he's all pale and twisted and looks so much like a snake that you think he's got a forked tongue and fangs if you could lift your head up and look close enough to see?"

Now the redhead was staring at him, with a look of dawning horror. Weasley swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and then whispered something that the blonde never expected him, or anyone, to ask.

"Did it hurt?"

Draco instinctively grabbed his arm where the Dark Lord seared his flesh. A choked laugh escaped his lips. "More than Cruciatus, Weasley."

There was silence, and then: "Was it worth it?"

He couldn't breathe for a moment. Worth it? Worth what? He was his father's son, and his father was in Azkaban. Of course he had to step into his father's shoes and stand by the Dark Lord's side, as every Malfoy had for every Dark Lord since the beginning of time. It was...expected of him. How was he to know that the Dark Lord would saddle him with an impossible task?

"Was it worth it, Malfoy?"

Draco blinked. Oh, he hadn't answered Weasley's question, had he? "Worth it?" He looked at the impaled eel, who had long since fallen still. "How can you tell when your life isn't over with yet? Find me when I'm dying, Weasley, and ask me then. Then I'll tell you if giving my life and soul to the Dark Lord was worth...it." He paused. "What is 'it' exactly?"

"Your self-respect. Your freedom." Weasley swallowed. "Your life. Your soul."

"Ah." Draco knew he was smiling bleakly. "I don't know, Weasley. But I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it? I'm my father's son." He looked at the freckled, wide-eyed boy in front of him, and murmured, "And so are you. Another Weasley, another Gryffindor." He wondered if there'd been a Weasley by Dumbledore when he'd defeated Grindelwald. Somehow, he could almost picture it -- Dumbledore, with that damn twinkle in his eye, a redhead by his shoulder as they both looked down at their defeated enemy, the Dark Lord of the 1940s.

"It doesn't have to be like that. Just before you're a Malfoy, doesn't mean--" Weasley stopped at the harsh, incredulous laugh.

"Doesn't mean what? That I have to follow in my father's, no, in my ancestors' footsteps? Actually, Weasley, it does." He dropped the knife, ignored the slight squisy noise the eel's corpse made upon impact, and advanced on the redhead. "Every single Malfoy has been Slytherin, Weasley. Every single one."

Weasley retreated, eyes wide. "Look, Malfoy--"

"I am my father's son, Weasley. Stop being such a fucking Gryffindor. Stop with this little pathetic attempt to save me. Some people are...unsalvagable. Like You-Know-Who."

At that, Weasley stopped moving, and an almost smug smile crept onto his face. "You-Know-Who was once a scared, lonely orphan named Tom Riddle," he said, "and if anyone had ever shown him a lick of kindess he might've been good."

Draco punched him, and bit back a yelp as his sore knuckles protest. He glared as Weasley, who just kept grinning. "Go to hell, Weasley. If anyone ever showed him kindness, he would've used that weakness against them. He's a Slytherin after all."

"And if I offered you some kindness?" Weasley's voice was suddenly soft, too soft for Draco's liking. "Would you use that against me?"

"Of course. I'm a Slytherin." Draco gritted his teeth, wanting to punch the boy again and again until he finally accepted that Draco was unsaveable. Couldn't Weasley see that he was a dead man walking? No, not even a man; he would die before he turned seventeen. "Can't you get that through your thick skull, or does all that red hair of yours leech any common sense you have?" He tried to laugh again, but it came out almost as a sob. "Besides, what kindness could a _Gryffindor_ give me?"

"This." And Weasley stepped forward and kissed him.

It was a rough, awkward kiss, the other boy's lips cracked and tasting of the coppery blood that had so recently spilled from his nose. Draco would've wondered why the kiss was so awkward when Ron had been snogging Lavender every hour since term began, but that would've involved thinking. And every thought in Draco's mind had abruptly died at the feeling of the redhead's lips against his.

When Draco just froze, Weasley pressed closer, bringing his fingers to stroke blond strands almost tenderly away from Draco's face. His eyes were half-closed, but the Slytherin knew he was watching him and waiting for a reaction, any reaction at all. His chapped lips pressed harder against Draco's mouth, and then he mumbled something against the other boy's lips. The soft whisper almost tickled, and his brain finally kicked in.

He pulled away, gasping, his hands raising to grab at Weasley's wrists, were as bony as his ankles. "What the...get the fuck away from me, Weasley!" He could taste the blood on his mouth, and it made him want to double over and empty his stomach. If he'd been anywhere but the Potions classroom, he knew he would have, but one image of an enraged Professor Snape was enough to gain a bit of control over his contorting stomach. "Get _away_!"

Weasley just looked at him, and said, "Has your father ever kissed another man?"

"What?" Draco's head was spinning -- what the _hell _was Weasley talking about? "Of course not!"

The redhead smiled, again a hint of smugness on his face. "Then you're not your father, are you? You're Draco Malfoy, the Malfoy who got kissed by another boy."

Draco wanted to hurt him more than he'd ever wanted to hurt anyone in his life. Even more than Potter. He wanted to rip the other boy's lips off and feed them to Hagrid's damn dog. He wanted to smash the other boy's nose in until he was no longer striking but hideous. He wanted to stab each and every one of those damn freckles until the other boy was dead from blood-loss.

But the thought of all that blood, of Weasley's blood splattering the floor, made him feel sick again. "You...get out." When Weasley just smiled again, Malfoy released him...and dove for his wand. He grabbed it and turned the wand on the redhead, enjoying the look of shock on the other boy's face. "Get out before I kill you. I'm willing to bet Snape will give me 50 points for ridding Hogwarts of a Weasley."

"Malfoy..."

"You insult my mother. You kiss me claiming it's kindness when we all know it was just horniness. You try to tear me from my family legacy. Why would I want to be in the same room with you?" He was rather proud that his voice didn't shake and that his wand remained pointed at Weasley's chest. "Get out." He almost slumped in relief when Weasley, pale and looking almost hurt, turned to go. Draco forced his voice to be as calm as possible as he added, "Oh, and Weasley?"

Weasley turned, and Draco was shocked at the odd look of hope that crossed the redhead's face. He hesitated just for a moment.

"_Obliviate._"

Weasley blinked and frowned, raising a hand to his nose. "Why's my nose hurt like hell?" he demanded, every inch of him radiating suspicion. Good. That was the Weasley he knew.

"Did I really hit you that hard, Weasel?" He put on the drawling, condescending tone that he was so renowned for. "I must have knocked something lose in that tiny brain of yours. We were arguing, and I punched you. Now go off to the infirmary before I hex you to oblivion."

The redhead frowned, as though he felt he was missing something. "What about the eels?"

"We're pretty much finished. I'll just toss them into the jars. Get lost, Weasley. Or all Gryffindor as thick as you and don't realize when they're not wanted?"

Reddening, Weasley glared at him for a moment. "You're such a prick, you know that?"

Draco half-smiled, and forced it to become a smirk. "Proud of it, Weasley."

And without another word, Weasley was gone with a slam of the door, and Draco could sink onto a stool and bury his face in his hands, finally letting the tremors come. Damn Weasley, damn him to hell! Why had he done that? All right, so Draco was well aware he looked like a bit of a poof, but he hadn't realized Weasley _was_ one... But why had he had to kiss him? It was so...bewildering, and the blonde needed a clear head for his mission. His suicide mission.

He raised his head and gazed almost tiredly at the door. "Damn you to hell, Weasley. I...I..."

"Yet I do fear thy nature; it is too full o' the milk of human kindness." The soft, silky voice was unmistakable, and Draco froze for a moment before he turned to stare at the Potions Master. "Why the look, Draco? Did you really think I wasn't listening in?"

"I..." Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "Why did he _do_ that, Professor?" He was well aware that he was pleading even as he licked his lips, tasting Weasley's blood even now. He opened his eyes after a moment, to see an oddly pained expression on the Potions Master's face. "Professor?"

"Because he wanted to save you, Draco. Save you from the tremendous blunder he thinks you made. I almost admire him for the lengths he'd go to rescue you from falling."

The blonde couldn't breathe for a moment. Fall? For a moment he pictured himself falling from the Astronomy Tower, blond mane whipping away from his face, and then he laughed, well aware he was almost hysterical. "But _why_? We've always been enemies! Ever since that first train ride when he laughed at my name! Why would he want to _save _me?"

"Because he's a Gryffindor, and they always try."

Draco hesitated. "Who tried to save you?"

Professor Snape smiled tiredly. "Who else? James Potter." He looked almost bitter, and Draco found it almost a relief from the pained expression the older man had been wearing earlier. "And he saved my life, indeed, when the Wolf almost killed me. Potter was good at saving people's lives. He was just never good at saving people's souls." He waved a hand. "Leave, Draco. I will pickle the eels myself. Go and...work on your mission for our lord."

"Yes sir," he whispered, although he knew as soon as he got back to the dormitory he would be washing the taste of Weasley's kiss off his mouth. He turned to go, tucking his wand into his belt, and had just put his hand on the doorknob when the Potions Master said, "Oh, and Draco?"

Draco turned, and almost smiled when he saw the wand in his professor's hand. "That was the same tone I used on--"

"_Obliviate." _

He blinked, his thoughts murky. Hadn't he been off to the dungeons for a detention with Professor Snape? But...Draco was already in the dungeon, with his Head of House gazing calmly at him. He rubbed at his hands, surprised at his sore knuckles. When had he bruised them? "I'm...here for my detention, sir."

"We shall have it another day, Draco," Professor Snape said. "Just...go."

"Sir?" Draco knew he sounded confused, and he was. It wasn't like the Potions Master to cancel a detention. But Professor Snape looked a bit off, really, so perhaps the man just needed some peace and quiet. "Yes, sir. Have a good evening, sir." He turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind him, pausing as he thought he caught something murmured just as the door had completely shut.

"Would you consider that a kindness, Weasley? Or a disservice?"

Fin

_I've held the hand of the Devil, felt his breath on my skin  
Dip me into the water, wash me again  
Can I still be forgiven for all of these things  
Or have I gone too far now  
Have I lost my wings _

_Angel Boy by Tim McGraw _


End file.
